


You're Someone That Should Know Me

by nu_breed



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-08
Updated: 2011-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nu_breed/pseuds/nu_breed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Bradley James Method means Bradley doesn’t shag his co-stars, he just pines after them until he gets bored.  Unfortunately, Colin Morgan is never boring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Someone That Should Know Me

This is what it starts with: a screen-test. A handshake. A press of warm hand against warm hand and a quick hello before they jump right into it. Bradley can’t help but notice Colin’s mouth, his huge blue eyes, and his prominent cheekbones. Words like striking, and pretty, and ethereal come to mind before he snaps into audition mode, donning Arthur like a piece of clothing he just shrugged on because it was cold.

They are perfect, of course. They click. You can’t fake chemistry like that; his agent tells him when the job offer’s made official. It’s like a soundbite from an interview waiting to happen. Bradley tries to focus on the wonders this break will do for his career if they get picked up and not the fact that when he thinks about having to spend hours sharing the same air as Colin, it makes his skin prickle and his chest feel tight.

***

Colin’s accent makes him weak at the knees. He wants to make Colin quote Shakespeare and Tennyson while Bradley lies there for hours with his eyes closed. Instead of admitting that Colin merely speaking is like auditory porn to him, Bradley loudly proclaims to anyone who’ll listen that he needs an interpreter to understand him, or possibly subtitles. Colin barely reacts to that, just rolls his eyes and turns up the volume on his iPod.

Colin chews on his lower lip when he’s concentrating, and afterwards he has teeth-shaped indents left behind. Bradley wishes he didn’t notice things like that.

***

The thing with being close enough to twist Colin’s arm behind his back take after take after take is that Bradley can now close his eyes and identify Colin by smell. That unique combination of sweat and make-up and the cruelty-free aftershave he uses. There’s something very worrying about knowing that, he thinks.

The next morning, in make-up, he hears Colin talking to one of his friends on the phone. Colin yells “You’re fuckin’ joking. No. Fuck _me_ , he did not! “

Bradley plays it over and over in his head that night. _Fuck **me**_. Hears it in the dark in Colin’s thick brogue and it sounds like begging. It’s too easy to imagine what Colin would look like; full lips forming the words, eyes fluttering closed, eyelashes casting shadows on his face, and Bradley can’t. Can’t let himself see it.

He tries to sleep instead but he’s too hot, too itchy in his skin, and he’s so hard that he aches. He ends up in the shower with one hand on the wall and one hand stroking himself while he tries to think about anything, anyone else. It doesn’t work.

He comes with the vivid image of Colin’s mouth on him, his eyes fixed on Bradley the whole time.

***

Bradley figures that after the honeymoon phase is over, he’ll lose interest. After all, that’s what usually happens with him. He notices someone, obsesses, and then moves on. He likes to call it the Bradley James Method. It’s perfect really, allows him those exciting, stomach-fluttery feelings without ever having to worry about it getting too serious. It’s not like he ever has a problem copping off anyway, but he tries not to make a habit of shagging his co-stars, which is why the Bradley James Method works impeccably well and has for years. Until now, that is.

Apparently, Colin Morgan was put on this earth to fuck with Bradley and the Method, because it’s been a year and Bradley hasn’t even noticed that anyone else exists. He’s still pining like an idiot on a daily basis, and it feels like it’s gotten worse, not better.

This isn’t helped, of course, by the fact that Colin is the biggest flirt in all of Great Britain. And possibly the Commonwealth, too. He’s always laying his head on Bradley’s shoulder when he’s tired, or whispering gossip in Bradley’s ear, or listening to music with his head thrown back so that Bradley can see his throat, taut and gorgeous. And the oral fixation is distracting to say the least. Colin’s taken to sucking on pens lately, and it’s about the only time that Bradley’s grateful for wearing chainmail. It may be heavy and ungainly and ridiculously, swelteringly hot, but it’s long enough to cover up his crotch.

The worst thing is that yes, it’s driving Bradley completely fucking insane, but he’s so pathetically besotted that he lives for the scraps that Colin gives him. Colin’s hand on his forearm is enough to get Bradley through an entire week of wank fantasies, knowing the weight of those fingers, how warm they feel against his skin.

He’s taken to picking up random blokes more often than he used to. He always fucks them facedown so as not to ruin the image, and it’s always Colin’s face he sees, Colin’s name he bites down on when he comes.

***

The worst thing about it is Bradley isn’t surprised when it happens. Katie’s birthday do has been going for hours and Colin, Katie, Angel and himself have been drinking Bollinger and shot after shot of some revolting coconut flavoured thing that is probably going to make him vomit purple.

After the fifth shot, Colin disappears, and comes back twenty minutes later with a bruise on his neck.

“Who, um.” Bradley tries for nonchalant, but nearly spitting out his sixth shot all over the bar might have ruined the illusion. “Your. Uh. Neck. Thing.”

Colin wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and that’s just bloody distracting. He touches the spot on his neck, and winces a little. Bradley wants to dig his fingers into that bruise and make it hurt.

“Oh that.” He shrugs, like it’s nothing, “I think his name was Andrew. Maybe. Or Simon. He works for Craft Services.”

Of course Colin would be copping off with boys that aren’t him. Bradley coughs uncontrollably and mutters “Excuse me” before running to the toilets to throw up.

***

When he wakes, he’s lying on top of the bedclothes still fully dressed. It takes him a couple of minutes to realise that someone is thumping on his door, and yelling “James!” in a very annoying, very slutty Irish accent.

Bradley stumbles to the door and opens it to find Colin looking puffed and agitated. His cheeks are red and his hair’s all messy, and he looks absolutely fucking delectable, the wanker, as he walks in and shuts the door behind him.

Bradley glares at the bruise on Colin’s neck for a minute or two, jealousy coiling in the pit of his stomach. His mouth tastes as bitter as he feels.

It takes him a moment to realise that Colin isn’t looking him in the face, but his gaze is fixed on Bradley’s crotch. His pants are undone, and he’s very obviously hard.

He clears his throat. “Not that it’s any business of yours, _Colin_ , but I was attempting to get undressed before bed. I may have fallen asleep during the process.”

That isn’t strictly true, of course. Bradley vaguely recalls trying to have a very angry wank thinking about Colin and bruises and man-stealing strumpets from Craft Services, but he must’ve fallen asleep given he didn’t get to the good part.

“Liar,” Colin says, and his voice is rough and scratchy and that’s just horribly unfair, and Bradley’s about to say something to that effect, but instead he finds himself pushed up against the door with Colin’s thigh between his legs and Colin’s mouth on his.

Bradley’s alcohol-hazed brain really doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but it doesn’t matter, because Colin. Is. Kissing. Him. It’s hard and rough and almost violent, teeth clacking together as Bradley tries to slow it down. He really doesn’t want to rush this, so he gets his hands in Colin’s mess of hair and holds him still so he can bite and lick and suck on that sinful fucking mouth he’s been dying to taste for so long.

“You’ve been,” Colin pants between kisses that burn Bradley from the inside out, “driving me fucking crazy, James. Thought making you jealous might help but all it did was make you throw up. I hope you brushed your teeth.”

“Fuck. You.” Bradley spits out and he spins around, pinning Colin to the door with one hand in his hair, pulling his neck so that Bradley can suck on it. His stomach feels like it’s turning to liquid with want, and he’s so fucking turned on it’s insane. He sucks hard on the bruise that made him so angry, and when Colin groans and squirms a little, he cups him through his jeans and whispers: “Going to make you forget anyone else ever existed, Col. You have no fucking idea.”

Bradley considers it his crowning glory when Colin Morgan comes in his pants.

***

He doesn’t see Colin again until Monday morning. Bradley strides into the make-up trailer and launches into a rousing rendition of “Oh What A Beautiful Morning” from Oklahoma.

“You know,” Colin yells over it, “for a singer, you make a really marvellous actor.”

Bradley means to come back with something truly biting and sarcastic, but when he looks over, Colin is reclining in his chair, fingers pressing into the bruise on his neck. _Bradley’s_ bruise. The little fucker knows exactly what he’s doing too, smirk on that mouth of his, and Bradley’s hit with this sudden desire to make him beg and plead. Make him as insane with want as Bradley is.

“And good morning to you too, Colin,” Bradley bellows, fake cheer in his voice for the benefit of everyone else in the trailer.

When he can see nobody’s looking, he leans in and whispers: “That’s quite a mouth you’ve got on you, Morgan. I’m really going to enjoy fucking it.”

Colin exhales, slow and deliberate, and Bradley slumps into his make-up chair and watches him in the mirror.

***

Bradley’s had months and months to think about it, but when Colin drops to his knees and swallows his cock, Bradley thinks that nothing could’ve prepared him for this. Colin’s mouth is wet and so warm and he really knows what he’s doing, so apparently the pen fixation really came in handy. Instead of kitten licks and tentatively inching forward, he just goes down on Bradley like all he wants is for his nose to get acquainted with Bradley’s stomach.

It feels magnificent, but even better is the sight of Colin, kneeling, mouth full with Bradley’s cock, and looking up at him through those ridiculous lashes. It’s possibly the hottest thing he’s ever seen, and it makes him whimper, and twist his fingers in Colin’s hair. He uses the grip to hold Colin there, and starts to move his hips forward and back, driving his cock in and out of Colin’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Bradley groans, “this is. Going to be. Embarrassingly fast.”

He feels Colin laugh around him, warm huff of breath and it feels divine. He’s given up trying to think, and all he can do is concentrate on the feeling of Colin’s tongue, dragging on the underside every time Bradley pushes into the hot wet of his mouth. It’s so good, just giving in like this, and Bradley starts to fuck Colin’s mouth for real then, hips slamming forward and back, pushing in deeper and deeper every time.

Colin moans around him, his hands on Bradley’s thighs, fingers digging into muscle. He’s loving it, getting off on it, and it makes Bradley insane with want. He’s thrusting blindly now, listening to those delicious sounds coming from Colin, knowing how his jaw must be aching from Bradley using him like this, and it’s almost too much, he feels drunk with sensation.

Bradley knows he’s just about done for, and as much as he wants to come down Colin’s throat, he wants... something else entirely. He pulls out, taking in Colin’s red, wet, abused mouth and his eyes dark with need. He strokes himself once, twice, three times and then he's coming, streaking white across Colin’s throat and mouth and cheek. It makes him look completely debauched, and really fucking beautiful.

“Happy now?” Colin asks, his breath coming in uneven bursts, “now that you’ve marked your territory?”

“I suppose you’ll do,” Bradley says, “until I get a better offer of course.”

“Well,” Colin gets up and whispers against Bradley’s ear, “I hear there’s a new guy in Craft Services.”

Bradley can just hear the fucking smirk in his voice, and he pushes Colin back enough to grab him and haul him to the bathroom by the elbow. Colin doesn’t resist, just lets Bradley manhandle him. His face is a mess, covered in Bradley’s come, and Bradley can’t help but feel his stomach fill with liquid heat at the thought of Colin marked and dirty and pliant, and all his. His mother always told him he was a selfish child, after all.

“Nobody else,” he whispers, running a flannel under the tap. He turns Colin around to face the mirror, one hand holding his chin in place, “I’ve waited too damn long for you and I don’t like sharing.”

Colin laughs and calls him a bossy bitch, but it doesn’t sound like a protest.

Bradley wipes Colin’s face with the damp flannel, careful and thorough. Then he unbuttons Colin’s jeans and shoves his hand inside his boxers, bringing him off teasingly slow with long, rough strokes, making Colin watch himself the whole time.

***

Colin stays the night and in the morning they eat breakfast naked, fighting over the last piece of toast before they shower, shave and get ready for work, and if the make-up girls are annoyed at the fact that they have more marks to cover up, they don’t say so.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to nympha_alba for the beta.


End file.
